sweet heart
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: Gale knows something's wrong when he wakes up in the forest, drinking blood from everything that moves. — vampire!AU; GaleKatniss
1. Bloodletting

a/n; LOL Gale's a vampire in this. What was I thinking? Honestly.

I used some basic vampire traits, though I either cut down on the intensity of some or boosted others. I may have also made some up by accident. This is mostly because I'm bad with already fit guidelines, but also because of the planned conclusion of the storyline. Also, this isn't a story I wrote ahead of time, so there will be longer waits.

Madge/Gale undertones because I'm a sucker.

**Sweet Heart: **One: Bloodletting

* * *

Gale wakes up in the forest one morning. Dawn is struggling to break over the line of the far away hills, orange, dull light cutting through the haze of dew.

Something's wrong with the way it looks. It tingles his skin, it hurts his eyes. His back is wet from the early morning, droplets seeping through his clothes. He's so uncomfortable, hungry. His stomach bends with nausea, urging against the tissue of his abdomen, desperately seeking a food he can't define.

His fingers close into fists, and he clumsily stands. The light gives him a fast headache, his already dry eyes becoming drier. He's sluggish, slow in his movements. His legs shake as he walks. He breathes hard against the daylight. He itches everywhere.

He can't admit that he doesn't know why he's here, nor can he admit he's lost. He's known this forest ever since he was small. He's got it all mapped out in his head, he knows he does, but it's like it's hiding from him. He searches his mind for it, but it feels blank and he sees black. He sees no outlining of trees, no patterns of rock and moss. All the grasses have no differential markings like they used to, no prominent landmarks he can pick out.

As the sun rises higher, the frailer his bones feel. His shoulders creak in the silent air, knees cracking to bend forward. He'd panic if he wasn't so hungry.

When he hears the snaps on the forest floor, he immediately smells the rabbit. He can hear its fluttering heart, ripe with red, healthy blood. He sees the ears peeking above few blades of grass, fifteen, maybe twenty feet away. He sees the eyes darting around, dark brown fur twitching with the movement of its skin. Its nose flickers and flickers with smelling the crisp, cleaned air.

It's suddenly in Gale's hand. He can't remember moving toward it, can't remember reaching for it. But it's tucked in his palm, its stomach and back clutched in his fist. It struggles, eyes bulging and darting frantically, forearms and hind legs kicking against his arm, so fast the thing is almost vibrating. It squeaks in wrenching horror.

But what he notices is the spike in the heartbeat. How the tissue pushes the blood through the veins, the building pressure in the arteries. His eyes can almost see the paths they make, running through his head and legs.

He can't stop himself—he's so hungry, hungrier than he's ever been—and he never knew a hunger could become so demanding. Here in District Twelve, he thought he knew what it was like to starve and crave and want. But what he's feeling now is so acute and powerful, it changes his thoughts and his worry about what he's doing into simplistic demands: Find food, get food, eat, eat, eat.

His teeth sink into the delicate flesh of the rabbit's neck, tasting the delicious life from those veins, fresh from the heart. It fills his mouth like the juice of fruit, cleansing his tongue. It slips down his throat in thick rivulets, warm in its several lines. He can feel when it hits his stomach, his arms, the joints of his knees.

The rabbit falls to the ground when he's done, deflated and lifeless. Gale's eyes are heavy when he blinks, but he isn't satisfied. He wants more of it. More blood, more soul, more something.

He still isn't sure, but the bloodless rabbit at his feet doesn't appall him like it should. Instead, he looks down at it like he's been doing this all his life. He wants to be frightened - but he's not. He's not sure why he craves blood and iron when he should only want meat and flesh and nuts and fruits. He looks at the palms of his hands, closes them and opens them again. He touches his teeth, wondering with odd fascination how sharp they are. His fingertips wipe away with residue from the rabbit.

He wants to want to throw up. He wants _more_. He's so torn that all he can do is stand there. Stand there and wait, for anything.

Another animal moves through the grasses. His new, freakish, impossible desires flare up within him, and he can't ignore them. Not as much as he wants to. He flashes through the forest without knowing he's running, catching up with whatever other animal he smells.

He eats. And eats and eats. Then the sun gets too high, and he itches all over. He wants to shed the skin that's vulnerable and hide in the shadows.

He's able to fight the impulse, if only through force of will. Looking around, the map of the forest pieces back together slowly. Things are clearer than before—much clearer. He still stumbles a few times, getting tangled in the long grass stalks, pot holes made from groundhogs, but he's able to find the fence. It's a palpable relief when he sees it, hears the silence it gives off, absent of currents that are supposed to run along the metal.

He pushes himself under it like it's a sudden freedom. He can't understand why he feels this way. So happy. So sure. Not when he just—sucked dry—what might have been half the population of the forest without even thinking about bringing them back home with him.

He almost doubles back at the thought, feeling the stupidity, the shame that crawls into him, wondering how he could do that, to not even_ think_ about his family—when he—when he smells something.

Hears something. Wants something.

Suddenly, he doesn't care about the animals of the forest. All that fills his mind is the new prospect of food.

Humans.

* * *

The first one is a mistake. All of it was a mistake, when he thinks about it. Humans are animals, except they_ aren't_ animals. Except they are. Except they aren't. He can't think that way, because it might make doing this natural, and this can never be natural, not with how life is now, not ever.

His body was smart, at least. He didn't kill the boy in front of the morning crowd of the Hob. His cravings were sedated enough from the animals before to keep him from running rampant on impulse. He waited behind one of the dilapidated buildings of the Hob, sensing the movements of the boy, almost seeing the future of his footsteps, and how he'd turn behind the building. Why he'd come behind here, Gale didn't know. Nor did he care. When the boy arrived, he looked surprised to see Gale, leaning against the back of the building's boards. He was close to starting a greeting before Gale pounced, teeth finding the jugular automatically. The boy was in too much shock to scream, drained too fast to fight. He probably couldn't have fought, anyway. He was a town kid. Not many of them knew how to defend themselves. They mostly knew how to make things, man a business—very different work from the Seam.

Gale tried to stop himself before the boy keeled over, but his attempts were too late. The veins turned gritty and dry, the rush dwindling. The boy's body fell into Gale's chest, and all Gale could do was hold him, feel the limpness of the boy's shell. He had brown hair. Couldn't be older than sixteen.

More emotion filled him than he could ever remember. A run of apathy and hate and confusion darted past his eyes, before regret and remorse came to finish the job. His arms shook, pain flashed behind his eyes. He didn't know what was wrong with him, didn't know what to do.

He jammed the body in the large, old and rusted trash can before he sped off, away from the Hob and hearts as fast as he could.

He's in the forest again, having darted there faster than he thought he'd ever be able, pressing his body against a tree.

He can't go back to his family—not if they're walking targets, begging him to suck them dry like the boy. How could he live with himself if he slaughtered them? If he even tried to slaughter them?

He can't hear a heartbeat inside him. Underneath his skin is a long, dark echo of silence. But his breath comes out hard and fast, and isn't that some kind of contradiction? He doesn't like to think about it.

He has to stay here. He has to live like an animal, because isn't that what he is now? Higher than humans on the food chain, leashed by his new, dark desires. He's controlled by what he is now, whatever he is, and he must stay here.

He falls to the ground, back against the thick birch. The bark snags his coat, loose threads breaking to freedom.

Everything is crystal, through his eyes. They can almost read the rhythm of the wind, lines playing across his eyes. Blades of grass are sharpened knives, glinting like razors against the sun. His skin prickles like he's being infested with insects, like mosquitoes are gnawing hungrily at his flesh when he moves in the sunlight. He becomes incrementally more active as the day passes, which doesn't make much sense - but he's too mentally drained to think of what might, truly, make sense anymore.

The blue of the sky is bluer, cerulean and graceful, more than anything he can compare it to, colors stark and standalone beside each other. The greens and the yellows and the browns and grays. They are no longer colors. They are souls by themselves, thrumming with a singular, definite link.

Gale roves his deadened fingers against the new life and colors, stinging with remorse when he touches them. He is no longer worthy of this curiosity—he knows it, subconsciously, as he sits and wonders about them. He's changed, and so have they. He may be a king with what he preys on, but this forest is untouchable with its trees and stalks and moss. The animals he can kill, but nothing else. It's like intuition.

His mind strays to Katniss, eventually. His picture of her is vivid, a blurry snapshot finally in focus. She's a beautiful thing there, behind his eyes. It makes him wonder what she would look like now, standing in front of him.

She'll wander into the forest soon enough. Too soon. He's not safe to be around like this. How will he explain to her what he can barely explain to himself? He won't be able to stop himself from biting her, mind thinking about her sedated pulse, how rich her blood must taste... He can't let himself see her.

_She's the only one that can tell his family,_ he argues. His emotions are a mess. Something is off about them. He feels like they've been magnified, sadness pulling at his tear ducts, the love that consumes him when he thinks about his mother and Posy and his brothers filling him to an uncomfortable tautness. Every other thing that he's ever felt is like a pressure point. Almost like being crippled by feeling. It's a tangible weakness, already exhausting him. It's never been a terrible problem before. It's going to take a while to get used to, after years and years of it subdued.

Gale wipes the sweat off his forehead, pressing his teeth back against a groan. He isn't sure what to do. He takes a breath, and he automatically takes a piece of twine out of his pocket, fastening knots along the rope.

Then he thinks better of it, impulsively tying them around his wrists and around the bark, holding him in place.

He hears her long before he sees her, her practiced, careful footing easily distinguishable. He straightens and pushes himself against the tree he's tied himself to. He can feel his strength inside him, and knows this is near worthless, but when she walks closer and his wrists buckle against the rope and her scent, he knows he'd never forgive himself if he gave up this chance to protect her.

When she comes into view, he can hear the threads of his twine begin to snap.

"Gale?" she says, eyes quickly noticing his position. They widen and she begins to run over to him.

"No," he commands her, throat straining through its thirst. "Stay away from me."

Her face is concerned, her mind working fast to come up with an answer she accepts. "Who did this to you?" she asks, and he notices her legs wanting to betray his command. She inches closer to him. She glances around, as if something will pummel her from behind. "What's going on?"

A wind breaks through the trees, like it's taunting him. It brings her scent to his nose. He feels his teeth tear through his gums.

"Get away from me, Katniss," he growls through his fangs. "I'm not me, anymore."

She stares at him, her eyes hooked on his mouth. Surely she sees his elongated canines. Her eyes dart to his, and she takes a step back. It makes him wonder for a brief second what she sees in his face.

"Gale…you're…"

"A monster," he snarls. If anything can work, maybe he can scare her away. He can already feel his mind succumbing to madness, lust, eyes zeroing in on her neck.

She shakes her head. "What's going on?" she repeats. "What happened to you?"

One of his arms rips through the twine. His fingers dig into the soft dirt that separates them. The action makes her jerk.

"Leave," he forces. "Leave. Just _go_. I can't…I'll…"

His other arm is dangerously close to freeing itself. And she smells _so good_. Her building fear smells even better. It makes her perspire, her heart shudder like the rabbit he killed first.

He wants her. He wants her unlike any other thing.

His left arm breaks away. He can see the hair on her arms stand, knows the fight or flight she's desperately fighting against. He hates that she's fighting it. She needs to run as fast as she can, but she stays.

"Katniss," he rasps, trying to anchor himself in the roots of grass. "Please. I can't…control…"

She finally runs, legs taking her back to the fence. He's only able to hold back long enough to give her a meager head start. Then he feels his body take him to her. He's on her so fast, he isn't sure if he touched the ground.

She struggles underneath him, real terror, no matter how subtle, passing through her pupils, dilating them and forcing her to see him for what he really is. She punches and kicks and thrashes, but it does nothing to him. Her hits are absorbed like rain.

He bares his fangs, coming down on her neck, before he feels a horrifying pain dart through his ribs, into his stomach. It's so sudden and urgent that the bones of his mouth shift back.

He trembles, wheezing out a moan before he backs away from her. His right hand gropes at the pain, finding the hilt of a knife. The knife he had given to her not long ago. Never did he think he'd be grateful the first thing he'd seen her use it on was him. He takes his hand away, clotted blood, dark red, almost obsidian, painting his fingers.

He's so surprised, he can only stare at her. His face must change back, because the fear in her eyes turns to horror.

"Gale. Gale, no, I didn't mean to—Gale, look at me."

His eyes have a hard time focusing. It's strange. He knows he isn't going to die, but the pain is exhausting, like his body is having a hard time repairing. He falls to the side, hand going back to the hilt, weakness fighting against his urge to pull it out.

Katniss quickly follows him, her hand on his cheek. She tries to make him look at her.

His eyes see half her face and half his eyelid. She slaps him, and his eyes open a bit wider.

"Gale, _look_ at me."

"I see you, princess," he grins, and if he knew what being drunk was like, he'd call it this. He's certainly never called her the pet name before.

"Don't die on me, okay? Promise me you won't die."

"I'm not," he says. His hand tenses and loosens on the knife, finally deciding to pull it out. He grunts when it frees, slinging it off to the side. "I'm going to be just fine."

Her eyes follow the bloodied knife before she looks to him again. Her palms press against his wound, and he feels how warm they are through his shirt.

"Gale," she pleads. "I don't know how…I don't have anything…"

He catches one of her hands. "Run," he demands. "Run before I can chase you."

She furiously shakes her head again. "There's no way you can—"

"Yes, there is," he says. "I'm going to heal in a few minutes. I'll want to kill you. Run."

His words ring true. He starts to feel better, but hungrier, _starving._ Her eyes widen as she stares at the skin stitching back together underneath her hand. She stares back at his face.

His teeth begin to grow. "Run, Katniss."

Her face is uncertain, but she listens.

She sprints, and he's too exhausted to chase her. He finds wild turkey instead, and the scar that had formed on his third rib vanishes like it had never been there.

Even after that show, he knows she'll come back later. He's not sure when or where she'll show up, or even if he'll be able to control himself at all when she does. But he prepares himself the best way he can. He eats enough small animals to sedate his throat, having the sense of mind to bring along all the dead animal skins with him this time. Their blood is disgusting, now. He can't forget about the taste of the kid earlier, how sweet his blood was compared to all the animals he had eaten before. It's almost hard to keep the blood down.

He sets traps out of habit, goes to the fruit bushes and tries to see if he can still enjoy normal food. He hopes in the second before he bites into it that it'll sustain him.

He realizes what a miraculously idiotic idea it is, once he swallows and tastes the sugar and juice of the berries, the texture which once was satisfying now dull, and the fumes that fill his nose lacking. It doesn't do a thing to cut through this different hunger. He feels the shell of the berry land in his stomach, doing nothing to replenish his veins. He spits out a seed in disdainful annoyance. The edge of it cuts through three stalks of grass.

He trudges over to the grasses and moves his fingers over the shortened blades. Then the glances around, looking up at the tops of the trees and toward the hills they've never dared to venture. He picks up a loose rock and hurls it at a tree, watching as the rock bruises the bark like a bullet. He throws another one, then another, then another, throwing them as hard as he can. The last one imbeds itself into the trunk.

It astonishes him. He eyes the hole and the rock, exhilarated by strength. He focuses on a branch, crouches, then jumps. He springs up and lands on it like a cat, the branch bending slightly under his weight. He uses its bounce to jump from branch to branch, and it's so easy, he has a hard time thinking its real.

He experiments while he can. He jumps from tree to tree, seeing how far he can go without missing one. He finds out twenty feet is his limit, when his fingers can barely grasp the edge of a branch before he falls to the ground. He has to get used to how easily he can brush things off. He doesn't get hurt as much - falling from the tree barely gives him a pause.

Curious from Katniss' knife earlier, he pulls off a branch in one hard tug. The point created by the pull is sharp to the touch. His eyes linger on it as he taps the wood. He turns the point where it touches his wrist, his skin declining into a concave dot. He uses his new strength to press hard into his flesh, dragging the branch down his arm to create a dark, deep gash. The pain that arises is white hot, but it lasts nearly a second for each inch he makes. It sews itself up right as the cut is made, like a backward fuse following his trail. The blood doesn't get a chance to seep out before pushed back into him again.

He finds that he doesn't fear this new, unusual ability. In fact, it elates him, makes him swell inside. Surely he isn't immortal, but he's something close to it, and this could change things. He can start something. A one man army. He can go against Snow and the Capitol, instilling fear in the ones that laugh at the murders of children, the gluttonous savages and the superficial audiences.

His mind runs rapid with all kinds of ideas. He can do _this_, or he can do _that_, because the people won't know how to handle something that they can't understand. Maybe he'll volunteer at the next Games, catching all those Capitol mongrels off guard with what he can do, run to Snow and slit his throat in two blinks of an eye, maybe suck his dirty skin dry. He can do that, can't he? He's fast enough. He can run through the entire forest in less than three minutes. None of the Peacekeepers or the Capitol guards would be fast enough to stop him.

It takes his mind a while to simmer down to where the ideas aren't so consuming. They quiet to a whisper when he realizes the one fatal flaw.

He can't control himself. Anything that skitters by with a heartbeat is more than likely to be eaten. And there isn't a way he can contain himself around people. At least, the hunger is too new to be able to control. Not yet. Maybe if he waits long enough, grows into whatever he is...

His eyes stray to the open valleys stretched before him. The sun pierces him with angry rays, though he's gotten used to them well enough. The itching sensation has decreased into a subtle nag, with the sun now quickening its descent. He wonders if he should flee to those places beyond him, for a few days, weeks even. He can tell Katniss, kill the animals needed by their families for her to collect on her hunting days. That would make things easier. She could deliver them to his family, perhaps even tell them a story about why he needs to be away for a while. He's got other responsibilities, too. School, though that's completely worthless. He's going to start the mines in six months. His absence will get people talking, and that's not something he wants if he runs off into the wilderness. Peacekeepers might come looking for him - though the threat they once posed is no more than an annoyance. He can kill them simply if they're somehow able to find him. He isn't sure how his family will take his absence, either. They've already lost a father. What would they do if they lost a son and a brother?

There's no telling how long he'll have to be away before he gets used to this.

The idea eclipses what he wants. And he's always been slightly more selfish than selfless. He doesn't want to leave his family. He wants to be better _now_. He hates how this controls him, like_ everything else_, and it's worse than Snow because how is he supposed to fight himself?

He goes to his and Katniss' meeting spot after a while. He stands there and glares at the sun and the valleys. He tears the belt off of his waist and lays it across the ground below him. She'll find it when she comes looking for him.

He looks out to the valleys again, and for the first time in all his life, they give him the feeling of sorrow and apprehension. Two of the most opposite emotions he's ever felt toward the view.

Sorrow turns to rage in an instant. He topples over boulders, rips branches from trees, shreds through grass like a machine.

He falls to the ground after several minutes, feeling ashamed. Being a slave to his emotions, losing control to them so easily. Being angry at what he's doing _consciously._

If he can't even keep his emotions in check, how is he supposed to keep anything in check?

Hopelessness sprawls onto him like a wet blanket. He hates this feeling, too, but as much as he tries to push it off him, it's unavoidably heavy. He lies on the forest floor and stares up at the swaying leaves on the trees overhead.

He sees birds flicker by, every once in a while. Their hearts are hammers as they pass, and he concentrates on them, feels his mouth salivate, forcing mantras through his head that ring hollow.

_You don't want it. You don't need it. You don't want it. You don't need it. Why do I want them, anyway?_

It's a grueling battle. As the ribbing hunger claws in his mind and mouth, pushing back all his thoughts, doing its best to erase his anger and confliction. He can almost see it all drain from him, wanting to care but coaxed to not. Slipping into the attractive haze of baser desires and instinctual, primal potency. His teeth grow without any more provocation, his eyes sharpen onto all the pulse points of life in the forest. He doesn't grow claws or horns. He isn't a human any longer, but his body desperately clings to the idea that he is.

He remains lying on the ground, taut with overwhelming sensation. He tries to step outside himself for a moment, to remember what this is, what he feels as he's sucked into the dark valleys of his altered conscious. If he can remember and know all the vulnerable pinches he feels in these few seconds, maybe he'll have that much of a higher chance to fight it.

He lasts a few minutes before he rounds up another massacre.

Gale loses track of time. When he dares to notice, the sun is drooping between the midpoint of the sky and the horizon. It must be late afternoon, though it's almost as if its been a lifetime of sitting and fighting and waiting.

He knows the moment Katniss slips underneath the fence and into the forest. He's been strung up like a wire for so long, twitching toward every miscellaneous noise. He hasn't made a plan for this confrontation. But he's come up with the conclusion that he'll have to have enough willpower to keep away from her. Nothing is more of an incentive than keeping her alive.

He steels himself, grabbing for a dead groundhog and allowing for its scent to overpower the soft breezes. He stares at its vacant eyes.

Her footsteps are much more deliberate than earlier, more careful, slow and cautious. If he closes his eyes, he can see the path she walks, feel the vibrations like a sonar. He knows when she's behind him, ten feet away at the very most. Her heartbeat is tremulous. His mouth waters without hesitation. He bites his tongue.

"Gale," she says, softly.

He swallows the new blood in his mouth. It tastes different than iron. It's almost sweet. "I can't be near my family," he begins quickly. "Or people. Not yet. I'll hunt for the both of us and leave you the animals here. Tell them I have to figure something out. Tell my mom to tell the school that I've come down with illness. I want to be back no later than a week."

"Gale," she repeats, in a tone that belies what he thinks she should be expressing. She speaks calmly and softly, and he can't imagine why she doesn't sound afraid. "They found a dead boy in the dumpster in the alley of the Hob. It was you, wasn't it?" When he doesn't answer right away, she continues, "The District is overly alert and scared. The boy's family is raging about how they're going to force the Mayor to call in more Peacekeepers. Everybody's on edge because of it."

Gale mulls over it hurriedly. "They're not going to. Peacekeepers are more trouble than they're worth. Cray and Darius will handle it."

"You killed him," she says, emphasizing. "You left him bloodless. This is a big deal, Gale. People are already making up rumors about a beast that lives in the forest. Some say the Capitol is punishing us - "

"The Capitol uses us every year for sport. What's one kid out of twenty-three?" His hands unconsciously rip through the skin of the animal. The inside of it hits his nose with the stench. "They'll get over it soon enough."

He hears her shift for a moment, nerves and questions palpable in the movement. "Gale, what happened to you? I...don't understand what's going on. Everything was fine yesterday."

"It's what it looks like," he says, voice rumbling with an already climbing impatience. "I woke up today and I drink blood. From anything. I crave it. It haunts me. You're lucky enough that I can't smell you, or..." Her heartbeat taunts him. He squeezes his eyes shut.

She takes a step forward, undaunted. "Then I can help you, can't I?"

His impatience jerks up. "You don't realize how difficult it is to concentrate when you're this close, Katniss." He shakes his head, eyes on the ground. "I can snap your neck with a finger. I can..." he bends the groundhog, and it's so sinfully simple how the spine cracks in half. "I can't be around you. I might _kill_ you."

"I trust you."

She says it easily, as easily as it was for him to casually kill the boy in the alley. He snarls, flashing his head around to look at her for the first time. It almost stuns him to see how passive she is, with her hands on her hips, looking down at him. But he knows she's scared, she has to be, totally clueless to what's_ really_ wrong with him as she bites the inside of her lip.

"Remember a few hours ago?" he says, tone riddled in sarcasm. "You want to chance that, Catnip?"

She tries to hide her flinch. She isn't good at it.

"You probably won't be able to learn how to control yourself around people if you stay in this forest, though, right? There's no people for you here to be tempted by...their blood."

He blinks at her. He hadn't thought of that. Was his entire plan in vain? Would this time secluding himself be more detrimental than helpful? He bares his teeth more, feeling the canines poke at his bottom lip. He doesn't mean to be so angry, but now he can almost taste her on the air, and all she does is stand there like she knows what's running through his mind when she doesn't.

He holds up the broken animal in his right hand, letting the limp arms and innards dangle in her view. "This is my temptation. And this is what it becomes. I'm going to control it in this forest by myself. I can use these animals. I'm not going to use you."

Her lips thin, and she stares at him hard. Her eyes linger on his teeth.

"I'm not going to let you go through this alone."

"You don't know what I'm going through. You don't have to know."

"Yes, I do. Stop acting like you're stronger than you are, Gale."

"I'm not acting like that at all!" he shouts at her. His eyes keep straying to the fluttering pulse on her neck. It betrays her bravado. She's as frightened as anyone else would be. He decides to use it. "I'm weak," he stresses. "I can't contain myself, can't you see?" He gestures to all the hollowed animals surrounding him. "I look at you, and half my thoughts are wondering what you taste like. The other half just wants to rip you into a million pieces."

A shadow passes over her face. Then she glares at him, and he's ready for her to say something along the lines of, _stop being dramatic,_ or, _I know that's not what you're thinking_. Instead, she surprises him and holds out one of her arms.

"Then do it," she says. "Break my arm. I want to see you do it."

He feels this strange rush of adrenaline. He follows the line of her arm and has to fight the impulse of actually going through with it. He wants to touch her skin. He wants to peel it back and analyze how she works inside.

He closes his eyes. "You're scared shitless, Katniss. Get out of here."

"You'd do this if it was me."

She says it like it's an answer to everything. He'd laugh if he wasn't so sad. His body twitches involuntarily at her rising blood pressure. She notices.

"Leave."

"_No._"

A slow line of sweat has progressively formed along his forehead. His breath comes out shallow, and he doesn't know when he began to stare at her wrist, wondering at its thinness.

He mutters nonsense as he tries once more to demand her to leave. His body moves forward. She takes a step back.

"You're not going to scare me into running away," she keeps on. He can hardly hear her. "You're not going to kill me."

His mind gets stuck on the word. _You're not going to_ kill_ me._

He rushes forward and grasps her wrist, and she gives a surprised, strangled cry. Then his teeth imbed into that one, thick vein, and she's so warm and delicate and vibrant as she slides down his throat. Lights hit the back of his eyes in blissful bursts. Katniss pushes at him, grasping at his hair and trying to leverage him off of her.

"Gale, Gale, stop it! Stop it! Get off." She heaves one more shove against him before collapsing. His sane mind is hazy and pressured into hiding, but he pushes against the force. He puts in practice what he did before when he was tempted, in reverse. The ache comes first. Then the anger, mixed with the guilt. Then the repulsion. The disgust, the _You don't need it. Why do you want this, anyway?_

It all happens in a second. Her pulse slows, bordering on lethargic. And then he pulls himself away.

Her legs shake, and she crumples to the ground. He follows her, folding his arms behind her back. His horrification subdues all other impulses that he has. He cups her cheek in his left hand, slapping it when her eyes close.

"Shit, Katniss. Stay with me. Please stay with me." He grabs her wrist that's still weakly bleeding. He squeezes it, then fears he'll break her bone. He rips off part of his shirt and wraps it tight around the wound. He pushes back her hair and holds her face, saying nonsensical things until her eyes flicker open.

"Stupid, Katniss, you're so fucking stupid," he breathes out, her eyes trying to focus on him. "You should have listened to me. I told you to listen to me."

She tries to lift her hand but he catches it, forcing it back down. She blinks slowly.

"You're bleeding," she says.

At first, he thinks she's delusional. Then he feels a burning warmth on his face. He reaches up and wipes away dark blood. He trails his fingers up more and finds out that his eyes are hot and stinging, the blood trail starting from his eyelids. He wipes roughly at them, refusing to believe that he's this emotional, and too worried to care why it is blood and not water.

Katniss watches him, still blinking too slowly.

"I told you I trusted you."

He can't come up with a decent reply. She closes her eyes and falls asleep.


	2. Side Effects

a/n; thanks for the support/interest/skepticism, everyone!

**Sweet Heart:** Two: Side Effects

* * *

Katniss is asleep for what seems to be a long time.

Gale gathers up several nuts from wherever he can find them, the immediate impulse to rip out a strawberry bush greater than his better judgement. He lays them all beside her, glaring at any skittering noises he hears. The animals must sense his frustration, because the sounds quiet after a few moments.

He wills her to wake with his eyes, and he's overly twitchy. He decides to shake her, but she moans and makes a funny noise, and the reaction gets him to think maybe using force isn't the best thing for her.

So he sits beside her, listening to her delicate heart. Then he has to move ten feet away. Then a begrudging twenty. Then his head starts to ache, and his teeth start to hurt. He watches her body rise with gentle breaths, before focusing on the sounds of the forest. Then he switches back to her, then to the forest. Knowing his luck, she'll waken when he's not around. She must be somewhere near conscious. Her heartbeat is getting stronger with each passing second.

A thought passes through his mind that that might not be a good thing for him. He sighs before he pushes off his legs and runs in the opposite direction.

When he gets his hands on a ground squirrel, (he had to dig it out from a maze of burrows), he seriously contemplates about the population. One day and a dozen less of their friends, and they already know to hide deep in their homes.

Maybe Katniss is right. Not that he ever truly thought she wasn't. But denying it was easier. Now, though, he's come to realize how disgracefully terrible animal blood is. After the boy, it was less than palatable, but now he knows what Katniss is like, it's damn near inedible.

He can't even finish it. He releases his hold, and the small squirrel dashes for his life into the ground, leaving droplets of dark, dribbling red blood splashes in its wake.

Gale shuffles back until he reaches a tree trunk, then he closes his eyes against the throbbing in his mouth. It reminds him of the perpetual motion of the mine elevator, the fluctuations of galloping hums from the gears. It's all coalesced inside his skull, rooted in his jaw and blooming in his mind. Unlike the rusted creaks in the machinery in Twelve, this one seems to be very reliable-it isn't going to give out. Unfortunately. Gale's already tired of it and it hasn't been twelve _hours._

He's aware when Katniss finally awakens, the hitch in her movements against the grass like a fog horn. Without thinking, he's by her side in a flash.

"Damn it, Gale!" she shouts at him, jerking at his abrupt proximity. She catches herself before she falls back.

"Ah. Sorry."

She holds her forehead. Her other hand goes to her stomach.

"I think..."

She looks like she's close to hurling. He rushes to the berries, picks one, and shoves it in her mouth.

"Hurry, eat some of these. You'll feel better."

Her face contorts, and she must be fostering her nerves back, because she manages a glare. She takes a bite and pulls the stem out of her mouth, relaxing into the grass. She reaches over to grab another, and he readily hands them to her in succession.

"Yeah. Better," she says, sighing and chewing on her sixth berry. Then she seems to notice the entire bush. "Gale, why did you…"

He follows her glance to the bush near his lap. He shrugs and feels oddly—it takes him a moment to put a name to it.

Because he never gets embarrassed. By anything.

"Got carried away, I guess. New strength, and all that."

She frowns at the answer, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "How are you feeling?" she gestures to him. "You're able to sit this close, and you're not going…insane, so that's good, right?"

He glances to the side. The throb in his gums strives on. He can't assume optimism for this, not where she's concerned. But it's like her blood unlocked a new, harder shielding against himself. A new vigor and temperance—suddenly and compellingly immediate. Where his rapid impulses for killing and eating still grind under the surface, a lacquer has been waxed over it.

Whether it was her near-death or her blood, he's not sure. Maybe not the blood. His tongue keeps up a repetition of the taste of her, as if determined to rid the memory of the squirrel, and he can already feel the frequency of the marching pound of his gums in time with the steady, wet punches of her heart. How just a little…a little sip won't be bad. Won't be anything, would it? No, it…

He pushes the end of his palm into his forehead, breathing out his nose. He's guessing the lacquer hasn't quite set.

"Gale?"

"What? Oh—right, yeah, it's good. Good. But I should probably…" he stands, still not looking at her, and walks twenty paces away from her before he takes a seat. "Better. It's better. Over here."

She regards the distance indelibly. Then she stares at him, and he stares back. They hold this pose for a moment. She stands and cuts the distance in half, placing herself in his direct line of sight.

"Katniss," he glares. "It's been twice in the last six hours. Wanna hedge on three?"

"Third time's the charm," she shrugs. "Besides, you're already getting better. I don't care what you say. I can see it."

"_You_ can see it?" he scoffs at her. "I think you should blame the lack of oxygen your brain's gotten this past hour."

Her nose wrinkles and she scowls at him, eyes settling on his eyes with an unsettling intensity. From this distance, he can still see the flecks of bright, silvery iron in them.

"_You_ can't see your face like I can."

He opens his mouth to say something, before he gets an irrational rush of panic. His hands jump to his face and he feels around it, expecting abnormal hair growth or leathered skin or deepened, monster lines, vestigial remnants of something grotesque.

"What's wrong with it? Is there something..." he stops when Katniss starts laughing.

"No, of course not. Do you really care that much about what you look like? I thought the girls at school were joking."

He splutters, feeling a dark heat flash across him. He rolls his eyes, trying to hide his embarrassment for a second time.

"No, it's not that. I just thought I was growing…" he pauses. "What? What have they said about me?"

She shrugs. "Do you think I pay attention?"

"You just said you did."

"No, I didn't."

"You said you thought the girls at school were joking."

"I didn't hear them. Madge did."

He shifts. It's just like her to hear secondhand about something so trivial. Not that his adventures in the more risqué trials of his life matter, now. He'd now, probably, _literally_, eat out all the girls he'd come in contact with.

His eyes trail to her neck. He hurriedly turns his head to the ground.

"Because the Mayor's princess is so dependable."

She gives him a look. "Not that, again."

"Not what, again? I don't care if you think she's your friend. You shouldn't keep her so close."

Katniss opts to look down at her wrist, messing with the dried-on fabric of Gale's shirt. She changes topic. "Your face is the same right now, but it _does_ change, when you're about to…" she points at the edges of her teeth. "Your eyes turn red around the iris, and your eyes dilate until they're completely black. Veins pop out around your eyelids. But only when you're about to...attack."

Gale processes the information, touching the tips of his teeth, and snagging the skin of his finger.

"Do I scare you when I do that?"

She avoids his gaze. "It happened too fast to remember what I was feeling."

Bullshit. He knows it's a lie, because he saw the fear, tasted the adrenaline inside of her. She can't even look at him now. But he's kind of glad she was scared. He'd wonder about it if she wasn't. It wouldn't be natural, even if Katniss is not average in the regards of anything.

He nods at her wrist that she's messing with. "You should let your mom work on that. Before you get an infection."

She shakes her head. "What am I going to tell her? I tripped and landed on a perfectly pointed rock?"

"She's going to see it, Katniss. You can't avoid that."

"Then what do I tell her when I get the same wound over and over again?"

He recoils at this thought. "I'm not going to do that to you."

"Yes, you are."

His teeth grit. "No, I'm not. You are the one who isn't going to stay here."

They stare each other down. She scoots an inch closer. She isn't leaving, and he's not sure how else he can keep her away, considering what he's done to her already.

He grinds his jaw, thinking about all the punctures she'll sustain if they go through with it. He imagines her with dozens of red, bloodied holes, resembling a bullet-infested rag doll, stuffing clinging to her seams.

He cuts his finger on a piece of bark, again and again, feeling the stitch of fibers threading back. It's unfair how he heals as fast as he does, and how long it'll take her—how she might never heal with the countless times he'll need her. Until he gets better. And he's not even sure how to put that in realistic terms.

He cuts his finger, deeper. The sluggish blood is a shocking contrast to his slightly paled skin. He furrows his brows, and he knifes through his tongue, tasting the sickening sweetness that zaps his mouth. Then it disappears, like it always does.

He ponders for a second…the burst of an idea he has is absurd—more than absurd, but if there's a way to avoid a bruised and bloodied and undeserving Katniss, then maybe.

He appears beside her, sitting. She jolts in a gasp.

"I don't think I'll get used to that. You were so quiet before."

"This is going to be weird," he says. "But just go with it, okay?"

She stares at him, bemused and suspicious, but nods.

He swiftly cuts through the skinny vein in his own wrist, deep enough to cause a small pool of blood to seep out onto his skin. He puts it under her nose.

"Drink it."

She eyes the molasses-like goop trapped in the dip of his forearm. Her face contorts in disgust.

"Gale, no! I am _not_ going to... _Why_ would I do that?"

He gets unconsciously closer. "I drink yours, don't I? What'll happen if you drink mine?"

Her eyebrows rise to the middle of her forehead. "I'll choke and die? It'll poison me? I'll throw up?"

He huffs, frustrated. Maybe it would poison her, but…she'd be fine. It'd be fine. It'd have to be fine.

The only hope he has is the fact that his gash has long since healed. And if his heals, maybe hers will, too. "Or it'll work on you like it works on me. Maybe it'll heal you. Just try it, okay? If something happens, spit it out."

"Gale..." Her eyes fall back to the blood and her face cringes comically at the sight. She reluctantly touches his forearm, before she grips it. "I can't believe...Why am I doing this?" she mutters, trailing off as she comes to terms. She breathes out, crunches her eyes together, and forces the blood into her mouth.

She doesn't jerk away and wretch immediately, like he had a feeling she might. Instead, she does the opposite. It's almost as if she forgets what she's doing after the first few moments. Her teeth needle into his arm and her tongue pushes into his skin. He gets a little breathless. The nerves in his arms are like his emotions. They damn near electrocute him. He pulls away from her.

"Oh—um…" Katniss stumbles, blinking a few times in a stupor. She stares at the line of his arm, and how she almost drank everything up. Her lip curls in a kind of repulsion, though her eyes gleam and her skin has a newly gilded touch.

He hurries to reach for her wrapped wrist, ridding the grungy strip of shirt in a second and finds—

Nothing. Nothing except for the residue of dried blood.

"It worked," he says, incredulously, running his thumb over and over the smooth skin. "You're…it's…" He looks at her still stupefied face, and he beams. "Katniss, I can heal you. It's okay. You don't have to deal with your mom, anymore, or any of the holes or bruises. I can _fix you."_ He's nearly vibrating with relief. He wraps his arms around her, squeezing her into an impromptu hug. He doesn't have much foresight when he does. He's overwhelmed with her scent, and he pushes his face into her neck before he realizes what he's doing. He hauls back a great gap of feet before his teeth have a chance to spring.

At his loss, she falls forward, catching herself with her hands. She looks up at him, glares, but there's something…different in her face. In her movements when she tries to stand.

She's very languid. She moves like she has no bones. When she nearly tips to the side, she stops and brings her arms out for balance. She shakes her head.

"I feel…I think…" she covers her face with her palms, blowing out a gust of air. "I'm…it's really hot out here. Is it hot out here? Ugh," she groans, reaching for the hem of her shirt with absent fingers. "Gale, what's going on? What did your blood do to me?"

When the shirt gets half-way up her stomach, he reaches for her and presses the shirt back down. Her surprised jump is two seconds late.

"What—Gale, stop _doing_ that."

He turns her head toward him, hand under her chin. Her eyes are peculiarly dilated. Her blinks are off on their rhythm, one eye closing before the other. Her cheeks are flushed like she has fever. His stomach starts to sink. He shouldn't have believed it so soon. This might have made everything worse.

He stills when he feels her hands on his chest. She hums. Then she sneers, jerking away from him. She trips, but he catches her, and she jerks away again.

She lifts her hands up and studies them, as if they betrayed her. "What the hell am I doing?"

He'd probably think this was humorous if he wasn't so concerned. "Katniss. You might have fever. Are you dizzy or light-headed or—"

She looks back to him, and her eyes glaze. Then they refocus, only to glaze again. It's like she's fighting something, with a mightily conscious effort, though he's almost certain the fight—or whatever it is—is in vain.

"I don't know what is in your blood, but I think..."

She steps forward to him, a finger tracing his face from cheek to lip. It's Gale's turn to back away.

"Hey, Katniss..."

"Gale," she says, the uncommon shyness in her face mixing oddly with the mystification in her eyes. "Oh, _no_," she breathes, hand landing in the middle of his chest. Then she wraps her arms around her middle and stares at his shirt. "I think...um..."

"Are you going to throw up?" he demands, trying to catch her eye. "Do you feel okay? What's wrong?" He tries to make sense of the expression on her face, which isn't a sickly green, nor is it contorted with pain, but her eyes are widened enough to make him believe she'll have a heart attack.

She shakes her head at his questions. She hesitates, words coming out like pulled teeth. "I think...I think I'm...attracted...to you."

He blinks. It isn't nearly as awful as he imagined. He could even be happy about it if... well, if she wasn't looking at him with silent horror. And if the way she said it didn't remind him of the Reaping. As if it's wrong, horribly, terribly, caustically _wrong_. As if it's the worst thing that could possibly happen between them—and he can't fathom why this might scare her more than his fangs or his blood-sucking or even him killing some kid.

It chafes at him badly. His emotions flare, imploding with fire. He steps away from her, forcing her hand to fall to her side. There's a deadened, atrophying puncture that writhes almost immediately inside his stomach. It feels like it shrinks.

"How awful," he says flatly.

"It's your blood! It's a side effect, it has to be. Gale," she says, almost pleading. She shakes her head vigorously. "This isn't...I don't want to have to feel this way...It'll just make everything harder. Harder than it should be. And I—"

"I told you earlier that I could handle this myself," he snarls, animalistic as he bares his teeth. "But you didn't listen to me. You stayed, like you could do a single fucking thing."

Her shoulders hold up, but it looks like she's shrinking, regardless. "Gale—"

"And there were going to be consequences," he jabs a claw—no, that's not right, it's still a hand—an inch below her neck, hitting hard bone turned soft overnight. "You knew that, and it turns out that being attracted to me is a consequence, and it's somehow worse than me killing you? Of turning you into what I am by accident? This is nothing. It shouldn't even matter. Everything could turn out so much worse."

He hulks above her, scene resembling a giant versus a dwarf.

She shakes her head. "Calm down, Gale. You _aren't_ going to kill me, or change me, or do anything."

"Get _out_ of this forest."

"No!"

His teeth rip through the seam of his gums. He can feel the blackening of his eyes this time, the pop of the veins.

"I said, get out."

He didn't think it possible, but he sees the brief flash of her eyes start to glisten. Just one level higher in shine.

He jabs into her chest again, and she flaps backward like that same rag doll he imagined, riddled with bullet holes, stuffing falling, ripping out of her seams. Her elbows, her knees, her hips.

"Stop it, Gale."

"Stop what?" he patronizes. "Stop being who I am?"

"Keep thinking that way, and you'll turn into what you already think you are."

The abrupt lightning inside him starts to lose its thundering heat under her stare; it begins to leave him in small, residual increments. He can feel the writhing in his stomach beginning to show again, the fleeing anger uncovering it like a worm under a rock.

"Third time's the charm, isn't it?"

He gets her eyes to widen, flicking to his still overgrown teeth, then to his veined eyes.

"You won't do it," she says knowingly, so knowingly it rubs him raw. She goes so far as to step forward, vulnerability fading as she stands in front of him. "You'd never do it, willingly."

"That's what you think," he keeps up, though it comes out without enough pressure to be even remotely believable. She touches his shirt in the same place as before, and it's enough to have the rest of his sudden flare of emotion dry away.

She looks at him for a few silent moments. "I shouldn't have acted that way. I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't think—your reaction...and it was all just..."

"It came with the strength," he says, converging wry with sarcasm. He backs away from her hand, turning off to the side. He walks to an opening in the field, pushing his back against a tree and slipping down until he's sitting. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm an emotional_ wreck_. I'm not used to it."

She follows behind him, sitting by his side. "I didn't know."

"I didn't tell you."

She stares at his side profile for a good long measure. "I'm going to go see your family tonight. I'll take care of it. I don't want you to worry about it."

He sighs at the thought. Mom and Rory and Vick and Posy. "Tell them I'm going through a phase. Living out in the wilderness and living the _dream_."

"How'd you know that's what I was going to say?"

She's joking, but he doesn't have the heart to laugh. "Lucky guess."

He notices the shift she makes, however minimal, erasing a centimeter between them. The guilt on his chest is too much to bear. "Sorry," he relents.

She shrugs, as if her heart didn't race when he stared her down. As if her eyes didn't flash with tears. He wants to place a hand on her shoulder, or hug her, or do something affectionate. But he keeps his arms in place, because she's too close, and if she gets any closer, he fears what his body will do. He keeps his head firmly looking forward.

"It's the hazard of being your partner," she says.

"I'm not always that bad, am I?"

"Not always, but you're rarely fun to be around."

He pushes her, conscious to just graze her shoulder in a barely-there nudge. She smiles, stumbling to the side but coming to sit back in the same spot. The distance between them remains, and neither goes to adjust it.

He imagines this is the hazard of being _her_ partner. The comfortable gap spanning over them like a stigma, seemingly wider the closer they get, the tepid warmth between them never daring to become any warmer. Now he's a few degrees chillier, and that can't help anything.

He opens his mouth to tell her that he appreciates what she's doing, that he appreciates her and all the things she's done for him this far in the three years he's known her. But even with the emotional bludgeoning tolling inside his throat, he can't quite get it out of him. His teeth clack back together.

"You'll be okay," she says, voice certain in its confidence. "You have to believe that you will be."

"What have we been doing all our lives_ besides_ believing?"

Her face is very soft. Sweet and breakable. It isn't the first time he's feared for her, if just to fear. If they had been born at a different moment in the present, a different year, a different decade, century. There are an infinite number of possibilities where they could have ended up being.

She smiles at him, and her hand comes up to touch his cheek. He almost flinches. Then she realizes what she's doing a mere second later, and she darts her hand back. She grabs her wrist with her other hand, as if it's a handcuff.

"I think your blood is fading. It's effects, I mean."

Gale lets his eyes wander to her hands, and how she's avoiding his face.

"...Good."

"Yeah..." she says. "Maybe I'll start building tolerance. We can try to reach that goal together, me to your blood and you to mine."

He manages a tight smile.

"Yeah. As long as mine doesn't do anything else to you. We'll reach it, no problem." It isn't going to be a problem for her. He knows that already. Her fight is downhill. His is up. Very far up. He knows he could drink her blood all day if he could, life becoming a wonderful, hot red heaven.

When she leaves around dinner time, he shoves several animal bodies into her hands and onto her belt. She, in turn, shoves her wrist into his nose. He refuses for a long, stubborn minute before she wrangles it into his mouth.

He sends her off with another puddle of his blood. She shuttles out of the forest as fast as she can.


	3. Escalating

a/n; I'm starting to get this dreadful feeling that this story is going to become a gigantic monster. Yeah. There goes my idea of a five-chaptered short story.

**Sweet**** Heart:** Three: Escalating

* * *

Katniss feels the heat from his blood long after she delivers his family food, taking his mother aside and telling her about Gale wanting space—needing it more than _wanting_—and that he would come back home soon.

"Gale's never done this before," she had said, worrying a hole in her left wrist, with her hands closed together. "It's highly dangerous out there, you kids know that. Bring him back here, know, Katniss, before I go out there and fetch him myself."

"No, Hazelle," Katniss answered, placing a hand atop hers, feeling...relaxed. Confident and sure. "I promise I'll bring him back as soon as I can, but not right now. He...You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said, desperately, veering off her ultimate route of explanation. "But he'll tell you when he gets back. It's...complicated. But he'll be okay. You have to trust me."

It was a lot to lay on a mother, what with the vagueness and minimal justification for what Gale was doing. Hazelle had taken it reluctantly at best, her eyes flitting through the darkness of night to the forest.

"If anyone asks questions, he wanted you to tell them he was sick. Just...in case."

She gave Katniss a hard look before acquiescing, slipping back into her home. Katniss remained on the doorstep, staring at the closed door before plucking herself off the sidewalk and pushing herself home, relieved that it was over and awed by how smoothly it went. She was expecting so much more of a fight, especially from Hazelle. But there is something very liberating, when she hears the door close.

As she walked home, she felt as if she could run miles and miles and never tire. Her mind kept thinking of Gale. Her heart would race. Sometimes, she'd have to catch herself from falling face forward on the ground.

It starts to fade by dinner, and she's able to maintain composure throughout the night (excluding the time where her hands kept shaking, and when she flushed so deeply with the swarming of heat that it prompted her mother to ask if she was alright). And for the first time she can remember, she was legitimately...full. And stranger still, full before dinner. She had to force herself to eat what was in front of her and felt nearly gluttonous with such a tight stomach.

She tosses and turns in bed, not nearing sleep for a monotonous two hours, heat flashes bringing her to the edge of sweating. And when her eyes do finally close, and stay closed, she dreams. And the dream is...quite atrocious. Atrocious in the way of not being able to tell anyone about it. There was nothing anyone could say or do to make her speak a word of it, because such a vivid dream of her and Gale...with him...biting her neck and sucking the life out of her, and her _liking_ it...is not something anyone else should ever be privy to, besides herself.

She's good about hiding thoughts and emotions. But all day, she's unbearably twitchy. She's sure people notice, in class. Even Madge speaks out at lunch and asks if she's alright.

She splutters out a clean lie, something brilliant along the lines of, "Of course I'm fine! Why wouldn't I be fine?" Madge doesn't say anything more, and Katniss believes her answer sufficed.

She wonders if this is what Gale feels like all the time, except less jittery and more hungry. Though they've always been hungry—Katniss knows what that's like, desperate hunger clawing at the lining of her stomach. Gale's can't be far off, can it? Maybe it gets worse as time goes on. This second time drinking his blood certainly was worse than the first time, and the first time she'd been _around_ him.

It's not a good sign.

When she arrives in the forest, he doesn't pounce on her or do anything oddly frightening, so she takes that with as much optimism as she dares. But he's pacing, and a pacing Gale means trouble. It helps to counteract any hope she has.

"I've been thinking," he says, once she steps into the open field he's in. "About what's going on. And I can't remember what I did the day before I woke up in the forest. Do you remember? I've been trying to clear it up, but I can't place it...do you think the Capitol had something to do with this?" he presses, gesturing to himself. "I know that might sound crazy, but what else could have made me like this? A bug bite? I don't think so."

Katniss' eyes follow the line of his pacing, can almost make out the path he's burning into the grass. She thinks back to the past days, remember saying goodbye to Gale after selling in the Hob.

"I only remember..." saying goodbye to him at the end of the day.

"It's got to be them. Snow. His associates. His advisors. His...people. Scientists. Whoever they are. They must have figured out what we've been doing. Have cameras set up and hidden in the forest..."

"Gale," Katniss starts, placing a hand on her right hip. "I guess it might be possible...But let's think about this for a second."

He pauses for a second, looking over her. Then he continues, shaking his head. "No, no, I think I've got it. Whatever it was drew me to the forest, knocked me out, transformed me overnight, then I woke up a blood sucking machine. We need to find someone with connections to the inside. Somehow. Can't be any of the Peacekeepers here, they know just as much as we do..."

Katniss grits her teeth. "Gale, are you listening to yourself—"

"Who would know anything...the Mayor. The Mayor would. That means Madge would. Katniss, all you have to do is ask Madge if she knows anything!"

He turns to her, eyes wild. She wonders just how little sleep he got the night before. She frowns.

"Ask Madge? Gale, you don't _like_ Madge. Now you want her to know about you?"

He groans. "She's our only connection to the other side, our only hope to knowing if any of my delusional ideas have any consistency!" He throws up his hands. "Don't you get it? If we figure out what's going on, maybe we could...after I learn how to deal with not killing everyone, maybe I could kill Snow and then..."

"Gale!" Katniss shouts. "What? What are you talking about?_ Killing_ Snow?"

"Sh! Not so loud!" he says, rushing up to her and closing her mouth with one of his hands. "It's just a thought. I don't die easy, remember? If I volunteer for the Games, I'd win. Maybe I could escape when I get to the Capitol, not partake in the games at all. It'd be simple enough. Then I'd find Snow." His eyes narrow dangerously, face nearing hers enough to have her lean back. "I could snap his neck with how close I get. I could rip out his heart."

She blinks at him, eyes widening by their own volition. She opens her mouth. "And...and then what?" she whispers. "Get caught, be held in a cell somewhere? They'd...have enough time to figure out how to kill you. Or...or worse. There's no way any of that could possibly end okay."

He smiles, enough for his teeth to poke out underneath his lip. "So? What's one sacrifice for another? The Capitol would be in such a disarray, they wouldn't know what to do. Leaders would rise up. It's a risk if they'd be good leaders or bad, but a chance to have a life better than this, in a Snow-less world? Who wouldn't want that? And we don't know, there could be others afflicted like I am, in other districts, even in the Capitol. Things would...change. Katniss," he says vigorously, hands landing on her shoulders and squeezing until they hurt her. "Think about it. Think of the freedom we've always wanted. Happiness for our families, possibilities they'd never have otherwise. You could even change your mind about having a family of your own, kids running around in a backyard with their toys." His eyes gleam. "Everything would_ change._"

It's only then, with his beautiful, almost cracking tone, that she realizes that he's completely, one hundred percent serious about his idea.

She chokes on her next breath for a second. "Gale, but...that's insane. They'd find a way to kill you. And the others, if there _are_ others."

He shakes his head. "You're not seeing it. Forget about me, Katniss. Think of the differences. _Two_ more deaths. Two. Snow and I. That's it. That's all it would take for the entire world to become _something else. _To give it a_ chance_ for something else._"_

"You wouldn't be there to see it," she says, her voice suddenly thick. Her shoulders under his hands feel like snapping apart.

He sighs at her, as if she's an unsatisfied child. "Don't be so emotional. _I'm_ the emotional one now, and I don't care about this as much as you do." He shakes his head. "I don't want to live like this forever. I don't want to ache like this every day, suppress what I feel, live in slow motion - a life that isn't human. It's like what we're living already, except _that_ much worse. Everything's gotten...slower. It takes longer for things to pass. Hours feel like days. I can't sleep at night, I can't sleep during the day. And if I can make it better, anything at all, it wouldn't change what I'm feeling now."

She backs away from him, slipping out of his grasp.

"Stop acting like you quit. Stop resigning. It's only the second day, you don't know if there's a cure or a way to get better. The urges might go away, and your emotions might go back to normal, and...and..."

"Katniss..." he says, finally softening. "Hey, it's..."

"Stop! Stop being so stupid. Stop trying to be heroic! You've never been this altruistic in your life, and suddenly you want to ride off into the sunset and die?" She shakes her head, body taut with anxiety. "No. You've always wanted to rebel, but never...You've never been so..."

"Now that it's possible, you're starting to believe the things I'm telling you?"

She looks at him, noting his features. Hammered iron made pliable by fire. That's what he is, even now. Especially now. Never did she think she'd have to worry so much about him in so short amount of time. It makes her nauseous and sick, makes her miss those days where he'd complain about life and Snow and his little, frivolous schemes that never seemed to go anywhere outside of their conversation. He's suddenly made every suggestion he's ever had immense and heavy.

"You've got to get it under control before you'd be able to do anything. Concentrate on that first, before you go off on one of your great, big ideas," she says, face a hard slant with how deeply she's frowning. "Don't even think about talking about those things when you can't even be this close to me," she says, stepping up right beside him and cocking her head so he can only stare at her neck, "without flinching."

Mid-flinch, he sneers at her. He steps a safe distance away. They stare at each other long and hard before he finally relents. "Fine."

She crosses her arms. "Fine."

Annoyed, he shuffles across the field to gather his kills of the day. He comes back around to place them around her belt. "But you should really think about it..."

"Shut up, Gale. I don't want to hear it," Katniss snaps, snatching the rest of the animals from his hands. She's surprised he lets her, as she clips them on. Then she realizes he's staring at her neck again. His eyes start to shift colors. She steps a foot back. "Gale."

He blinks, and she sees his throat bob in a swallow as he glances away from her. "Uh, sorry, I'm just..."

Katniss has to admit, letting him drink from her wrist was not an experience she'd ever think she'd have. It's weird, and painful, and a little disgusting. But she finds that she doesn't mind it as much as she should. It surprised her the first time, she definitely questioned herself the second time, but...she meant it when she said she'd help him—because he'd do it for her. And there's something in that mutual trust that makes it all so...simple.

She holds out her hand. "Here."

He looks at it, thinks about it, must want it like a madman—she can tell by the way his eyes glaze over. She absently wonders what she tastes like to him, to get his face to look like that. She almost asks, then thinks better of it, in case the question is too premature. It might be torture, with how he's keeping himself away from her, the pain in his face that goes along with it.

"No, not yet," he answers after a long moment. "Gotta fight the temptation, remember? It'd be too simple if you just let me drink from you."

She quirks her brow. "I thought that's what we were doing. You're not jumping on me, and that's a good sign, isn't it?"

"I'm barely managing," he mutters, and she can hear the quiet fury behind the words.

"Is my blood really that...good...to you?" she asks, unable to help herself.

He drags a hand through his hair, so quick his hand is a blur. "Yes, it's good," he glares at her, before turning away. He sighs. "It's...I don't know how to explain. It's..." he shakes his head. "Better than sex."

Because that description really helps her. She takes that at face value, because that must mean it tastes really, _really_ good. And it's not that she's never known about Gale's reputation, though it's his first admittance, and his first remark, of it openly.

"That good, huh," she says sarcastically, and she almost laughs at how he looks at her. He begins to backtrack.

"I mean, not that you'd know what I meant, but...well, yeah. It's good," he finishes lamely, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at her before looking away again. He seems a little embarrassed, though she's not particularly sure why.

"I get it, Gale," she answers, ignoring the curious nag inside her that wants to know, _Who?_ and _How many?_ Even though days before, she could have cared less. It's his stupid blood. It must be. Making her dream weird dreams and piquing her interests in areas that never were piqued.

He opens his mouth, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He hesitates before deciding against what he was going to say. Then he opens it again and avoids her stare as he asks, "You haven't ever...have you?"

She peers at him like he's crazy. "_Never._ _You_ know that."

He shakes his head. "Yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you didn't turn crazy just because I did."

He sounds a little more like himself than the day before. She smiles. "No. I'm still normal."

"What you claim to be normal, you mean."

She shoves him. "I'm pretty normal compared to you."

Something sets him off—either her proximity or something else—and a moment later she's on her back, her wrist inside one of his hands, his knees straddling her hips. His eyes begin to fill with red as he brings her wrist closer to his mouth. Her breath catches as she tries to inhale, the sudden force making her dizzy.

His nose touches her wrist, and she braces herself for the sharp pain of his teeth. Waits for it. Watches as he closes his eyes, takes in her scent, almost looks like he's going to eat her skin instead of drink from it. He takes his time, as if he's in a trance. She can't help but fidget, just a tiny, slight motion underneath him. He notices immediately. His eyes open, and she can see the gray disappearing, sees his teeth grow millimeter by millimeter. She shudders, involuntarily fidgeting again.

This time he closes his eyes, takes his mouth away from her wrist. He jerks, pushing her arm away, digging his hands into the dirt on either side of her. He bows his head, and she can feel more than hear the growl that rips its way through him. Her heart beats with painstaking force, and she absently worries that he can hear it, being so close. His body is taught like knots tangled together. Sweat coalesces in the hollow of his throat. He huffs once, then twice, before he sighs. His whole body trembles.

And when he opens his eyes, they're back to their healthy silver shade, finding her own. They stare at each other, and she finds the breath that left her. It's only then that he must realize what he's doing, if he knew at all, glancing at their position and not looking back to her, as if ashamed. He pushes himself up and stands, and she feels the powerful rush of relief and a glistening ache of pride. He reaches a hand out to help her up, before hesitating when he catches the surprised look on her face.

"I'm sor - "

"Don't say it," she cuts him off, breathing heavy. She shakes her head fast. "You don't need to apologize for anything. Especially now. You kept yourself from drinking. You fought your way out of it. Gale," she says, pushing herself up quickly. She puts her hands on his shoulders, shaking him. "That was good. It's only the second day, and you're already starting to control yourself more." Her hands move to either side of his neck. "You're doing it, see? Like I told you."

He's on the verge of smiling, she can see it. And it's then that she realizes how much she's craving to see it. It's only been a day since she's gotten one, but they're invaluable now more than ever.

It dies before it gets the chance to break onto his lips. His hands go up to cover hers, and he pushes them away.

"I think...I can't be around you for a while, Katniss. I can't hold this forever. That was..." he furrows his brows. "That was really hard. Harder than yesterday. I think you need to go."

But she doesn't want to go.

"If I leave, you'd need to drink from me anyway, wouldn't you? So drink."

"Katniss..."

"Think of it as a reward for controlling yourself," she says, placing her wrist freely between them. She frowns up at him. "I know you don't like this idea, Gale, but stop wanting to protect me. It's fine. You can heal me."

He sighs heavily. "You don't know what my blood will do to you long term. What if it..."

"I don't care! Stop thinking about it," she almost shouts, patience running away from her. "Just drink."

"You should care. I care," he says in a rush. He backs away from her wrist like it's a bomb. "I don't want you to die."

She throws her arms out. Was he being serious? What brought this on all of a sudden? "I don't want _you_ to die, either, but it seems like I can't stop you no matter what I say. So don't feed me that line when it works both ways." She thrusts her arm out again. "Drink."

His face is stone as he looks at her, glares at her. Then his eyes drift down to her arm, and she can see the tension in his shoulders and the stiff, mechanical way he walks forward again, stilted with how he succumbs to her. He makes sure to hold her arm delicately as her blood rushes into his mouth. She bites her lips against the sting, and it's worth it when, in just one second, all the tension in Gale dissipates out of him. His shoulders go slack, and the growing dent between his eyes starts to ease up.

He lets go of her moments after, much faster than the day before, with the collected heat remaining in his eyes like it had the day before, too. They almost scorch her when he looks at her.

He rips a gash in his forearm, producing blood for her. She swallows when she looks at it, reminded in an instant of her dream the night before. Reminded of the sweetness of it and the way it makes her feel like she's floating.

She stares, not sure if she's flushing. He prods her. "C'mon, Katniss. Mine isn't so bad, I don't think. Is it?"

She shakes her head, still staring. "No, I like it." She blinks. "I mean..."

"Really?"

This time, she's sure she flushes. She opens her mouth, no words coming, then shrugs at him sheepishly. She ends his questioning stare by grabbing his elbow and wrist, licking the line of blood he left her. It isn't bad, no. The texture is kind of like molasses, dark in its flavor, too, but also deeply sweet. And somehow, if it isn't crazy to admit this to herself, it even _tastes_ like Gale. Not that she knows what he tastes like, but the scent of it burns her nose, smelling like pine and earth, and whitewood and musk. It's completely him and she likes that it's like that. It fells a blanket of calm over her, like she's in a haven with nothing to worry about, tucked away against the steel line of his body. And if she keeps her eyes closed, she could stay there forever and not care about a thing.

"Katniss."

"Mm?" she says sleepily, rolling her head back to look at him...only to realize that she's curled up into him with her back against his chest, the arm that she's holding wrapped around her front. "Oh."

She goes to unravel herself away from him, stepping back a safe enough distance. But looking back at his arm, she longs for it. She grimaces at the thought.

"I guess you were telling the truth about liking it," he says, crossing his arms across his chest. "I thought you hated it. Since...what it does."

The burning heat runs up her spine to the base of her brain. Her heart stutters at the warmth that settles across her body. It's a strange feeling, a forced liking wriggling within her aversion, just like a parasitic worm.

"More love-hate, I think," she answers, mouth slanting in a small frown. "It's so weird. Makes me feel like I have no common sense. My brain's all...mush."

At this, for whatever reason, he smiles—finally—and Katniss has to stare. Has he always been this handsome? Is it just his smile? Probably just his smile, since he rarely shows it. It's like a gift each time she sees it. And his chest. It looks so inviting. She wants to dig a hole there, make a cavern for herself. Use his arms like blankets. Wouldn't that be divine?

She sees herself start to make her way to him, uncrossing his arms with her own. She burrows her face into him, inhaling deeply, then exhaling with, "Gale."

"Ah, Catnip, I think I gave you too much."

She hums, mind all blurry, the burner on her skin melting all of her judgment, all of her coherent thoughts. "I want to live inside you." She claws at his shirt with her hands, butting his chest with her forehead. "Let me in," she says. "I promise you'll like it."

She feels his arms slowly wrap around her, very loosely. "I'm sure I would."

She complains, reaching at his arms. "Wrap them tighter."

He complies after a moment. She melts further. This is her dream. Like her dream. Close to her dream. Just a few more things, and...

No. No, definitely not. She hurriedly pushes him away, brain seizing against the escalation of her actions, staring at herself in horrification. She opens her mouth, hesitating in her embarrassment.

"I'm...let's..."

He looks down at her, stepping a few feet back. His face remains unreadable. "It's alright. I've already forgotten about it."

She keeps her eyes away from him, but she sighs. Her hands begin to shake, like the night before. She feels a liking to adrenaline course through her, against the heat. She wraps them around her middle to keep him from noticing.

She suddenly wants to leave, and quickly.

"I'm...I think I'm going to go now."

He keeps watching her, before he crosses his arms. "You can stay away for a few days, if you want to."

"I'll be back later today," she answers him instead, ignoring his attempt to keep her away. She shakes her head from the encroaching fuzziness. "In a few hours, okay?"

His body heaves in a pseudo-sigh. "Okay."

"And I'll..." she hesitates. "I'll talk to Madge."

"Okay."

She nods. "Okay." Then she turns around and makes her way quickly to the fence.


	4. Princess

a/n; I'm going to try to be more timely with my updates with this. My laziness is killing me.

**Sweet Heart:** Chapter Four: Princess

* * *

Katniss arrives to class late. To the reprimand of her teacher, who has, incidentally, always hated her.

"Miss Everdeen," she announces, bellowing her name off the walls of the classroom. "I do not appreciate your flagrant tardiness. It is an insult to this District and this establishment." She peers down at Katniss, even as she makes her way to a vacant seat on the third aisle. "Stay in during lunch and write lines. This will be your punishment."

Katniss glares at her once she turns her back. She glances at the clock, belatedly realizing why Mrs. Thompson was so angry. She was almost an hour and a half late. And then Katniss still wonders why, because all they ever learn in here is the history of coal mining and the different laws of the districts. Nothing noteworthy or useful for much of anything.

She sighs, and then she starts hearing the flutter of whispers from around the room. She glances at a few girls, who catch Katniss looking before they immediately look away. Others are still glancing, and she prides the ones that aren't. Is it really so interesting that she's late?

She finds Madge's blond head once Mrs. Thompson continues her droning. She catches her eye, and Madge tries and fails at a small smile.

Madge. Katniss was going to ask her at lunch. Maybe she'll catch up to her once class is dismissed. She hasn't even figured out how to broach the topic, really.

_Hey, Madge, so Gale's teeth grow and he drinks blood and is slightly inhuman...and I was wondering if your dad knew what caused it?  
_

Because _that's_ an easy conversation to have. She rests her chin heavily in her palm, wondering how Madge could possibly handle the idea, let alone agreeing to actually asking her father about Capitol business.

Katniss guesses if Madge did, by chance, agree, she could blame paranoia to the weird questions she'd probably ask. Or, maybe if she doesn't agree, Katniss could do it herself. She does feel strangely...bold. Overly confident. Like yesterday, when she told Hazelle about Gale's prolonged absence. It makes her feel scarily certain that the Mayor would bother to take time to listen to her and answer her questions, even though the probability of getting to talk to him is a million to one.

Another side effect? Most likely. She's not sure if it's any better than thinking of Gale constantly. That side effect is annoying, though not as detrimental to her health like the dreams are.

Or maybe it is. When the lunch bell tolls and she has to write lines, she keeps unconsciously scribbling Gale's name on the paper instead of the pages she's supposed to be copying.

* * *

She only just manages to catch Madge when the bell rings at the end of class. Madge can't conceal how surprised she is when she looks up to see Katniss calling after her, and Katniss can't blame her. She can't remember the last conversation she started.

"Katniss," Madge says as they begin to walk together. "Is something wrong?"

If only she knew. "No," Katniss answers. "I've just been thinking...about this whole _forest monster_ idea that's going around."

"I think everyone has."

Katniss stalls for a few moments. "Do you know anything about it? I mean, I just...since your dad is the Mayor, I thought maybe you might know more than the rest of us."

Madge is quiet for a while. Katniss can't tell if she's thinking or not. Usually, Madge is only rubbed the wrong way by Gale and his obvious insults to her status. But this time, her status couldn't be avoided.

Madge looks to Katniss. "I only know a little, though of course, I'm not to say a word." Her distaste is reflected easily through her tone. "Will you still hunt if I tell you?"

Katniss has always been slightly intimidated by Madge. Her blonde hair hides a cunning center. "I'm going to hunt, regardless of whether you tell me or not. I just wanted to know what I was dealing with, and if there was anything dangerous about it."

Madge shakes her head. "All I know is that it was supposed to be some kind of virus. My father was...talking about it. I figured it was supposed to target the animals to keep people from trading." Her eyes overlook Katniss. "But I don't think an animal could kill a boy without being seen by anyone in the Hob, do you?"

Katniss swallows. "Probably not."

They're almost to her house. Madge turns to her fully.

"That's all I know. I don't know if it's contagious or not. So be careful, you and...you and Gale, both."

Katniss frowns at her words. "It's from the Capitol, isn't it?"

Madge looks at the ground. "What other enemies do we have?"

Katniss concedes the point. "Let me know if you find out anything else?"

It comes out more as a question than a command. Madge smiles wryly at her.

"Sure. I don't think my father could_ live_ without the strawberries you bring."

Then she turns and walks into her house. She leaves Katniss slightly more desperate than before.

* * *

"So that doesn't really help."

Gale's facing away from her, breaking more spines in a few of the rabbits around him. Katniss keeps from voicing that it's probably an unhealthy habit.

"I know," she says, standing against a tree and twirling the tail end of her braid between two fingers. "You were right about it being from the Capitol, I think."

"No surprise there," he says, and she winces at one of the vertebrates cracking. "Maybe you should bring the princess here. I'm sure I could give her a quicker incentive to figure out what the hell's going on."

Katniss glares at the back of his head. "I'm not going to do that, Gale."

His back ripples. "You realize she's our only link to figuring this all out? To finding out _why_?"

She looks at the ground. "I know that, Gale, but I'm not going to let her or anybody know about _you_ unless it's the last resort."

She's thought about that for a long while. She'd rather protect Gale than help pave his way to self-destruction, whether he's conscious of that or not. He probably is, all things considered. Gale isn't one for self-righteousness, and he's hardly credible for being oblivious in his delusions.

He laughs. "This _is_ the last resort. She holds the only information we'll ever get. We're lucky she knows anything at all." He turns around to glare at her. "What I don't get is why you aren't as eager to find out about what the hell is wrong with me."

She faces his glare head on. "I_ am_ eager. I'm desperate, Gale."

He stares at her for a moment. "If you don't bring her here by tomorrow, I'll fetch her myself."

"Don't be like that, Gale. You don't mean that. Is this one of your emotional flare ups, again?"

He growls at her. It's almost frightening—his eyes turn dark red and his fangs, she swears, can grow much longer than they did the previous day. "All I want are answers, and I'll do what I have to do to get them."

Katniss recoils, the bark digging through the fabric of her shirt. It scares her—but she's not sure what she's more frightened about: Gale's red eyes and fangs and terrible desperation, or his sudden, very real resemblance of a monster.

She knows this manic need for information is, first and foremost, to calm his state of mind. He's been treading too long with too little. But he isn't going to use the information the way she'd like him to. It will be his crutch, and he'll excel with it. He'll ignore the possibilities of getting better, if there are any, just so he can use himself as a means to an end. But her mind's making up too many variables that may not exist. There is too much hope in her thoughts, because _if_ there is something to make him better,_ if_ there's something to keep him from dying...

And what if this _virus_ is more serious than they've been handling it? What if it effects him more insidiously than she's been willing to think about? What if it worms its way into his brain, makes him lose who he is, makes him irreparable? She hadn't imagined it to be so bad, not after witnessing his self-control and how he suppressed his impulses, how he still walked and talked like himself. There are only a handful of things that are truly different. But now...

That thought terrifies her more than his inevitable destruction. At least, if he does do what he wants to do, and dies because of it, he'd still be_ Gale._

"I can bring her here now."

Gale's eyes abruptly turn back to normal. His teeth slowly ascend back.

"What?"

"You're right. We don't have time. We've never had time," she says, pushing off the tree. "We need to know. We need to know if there's a way to turn you back, to make sure it can't do anything else to you. I just thought..."

_I just thought that maybe, delaying anything, any help, any outside information, would keep you with me.  
_

And how selfish is she? Trying to hinder his progress? His control and his sanity? She blames his blood. She'll blame everything on his blood, making her selfish and overly confident and disgustingly emotional.

He looks like he wants to walk toward her, but he doesn't.

"If Madge knows that you have it, whatever it is, we'll get answers faster. And then you can keep control."

"Katniss."

"You're right, Gale," she says over him. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm...sorry. We'll be able to sneak in on the east side. No one is ever there to see us. Just...don't scare her too much."

She hustles off before he can think of something to say.

* * *

Katniss tries to make herself believe that this isn't a bad idea. Her will to reach Madge starts to die as soon as she steps out of the border of the forest. Her fiery pace cools down to a sedated walk. It's lucky that she's going to see Madge. If it was anyone else, she wouldn't do it.

Though, maybe that's a lie. She probably _would_ do it, if the circumstances were the same. Madge just makes the idea of it a little easier.

When she reaches the landing of Madge's porch, she pauses and stares at the doorknocker. She takes a breath, then reaches a hand out and knocks.

This better work.

It takes Madge three and a half seconds to answer the door.

"Katniss," she says, everything about her immediately alerted. "Is...what happened?"

Katniss bites her tongue from a brash, impulsive response. Instead, she says, "I need you to come with me. It's...important."

Madge studies her face for a moment, face steeling against her hesitation. Katniss doesn't know what her face looks like to Madge, but Madge averts her eyes before nodding.

"Wait one second," she says, hurrying back inside her house. Katniss hears her say something to someone inside, and then she reappears. Her clothes are too fresh and immaculate for where they're about to go, and Gale will no doubt want to soil some part of Madge's dress, if only just because.

Katniss is surprised for a few minutes, waiting on Madge to question where they're going and why they're going—with all the mystery of the journey looming over them. Instead, she follows Katniss silently, as if she already knows, doesn't want to, or doesn't care. It's only when they're half-way to the forest when Madge asks if that's where they're headed.

"Yes," Katniss says. "It's the only place where I can..."

"It's fine," Madge says, misinterpreting Katniss' hesitation. "I've always wanted to go to the forest."

Katniss looks at her. "You have?"

She shrugs. "It's just so...daring. Free and rebellious. I guess I've wanted to know what that felt like."

It's second nature to Katniss. She can't remember what it felt like not to be...daring, as Madge called it.

"Try not to be scared," Katniss tells her once they near the edge of the forest line.

"Trying is easy," Madge mumbles under her breath.

Katniss glances at her, then ducks underneath the fence. Madge doesn't hesitate as she continues to follow.

* * *

Gale waits an eternity. Or he waits what seems like an eternity.

He's still trying to relearn the length of minutes and seconds and hours. He only knows about days because of the sun and the moon. Everything keeps trudging along with a wicked slowness (or is it faster than he thinks?). He can't make himself sleep—he's not sure if it's a side effect, or if he's too frightened to relax into sleep again—but either way, it's a problem. His mind is starting to dull from the fogginess, and his bones ache like he needs to rest them—_but why?_ he thinks. His heart has ceased to beat, so why would he need rest for anything? He believed the blood to be his energy source, especially with the rejuvenated release he'd feel right after he'd feed off of Katniss. But it seemed, the more he began to have, the more he needed to keep from being tired and weak and light-headed.

Not that he'd tell Katniss that. At least, not yet. Hopefully he wouldn't ever need to. Not with the way she's been acting, lately. If anything, she'd be more upset about it than him, and he's really not good at handling an upset Katniss. Especially now.

Regardless, it's why he needs to act as fast as he can, learn as much as he can, and finish the job. Undersee better know something, or else...he was at a dead end.

No, he was_ already_ at a dead end. If Katniss' blood was unlimited, then he wouldn't be. It's gotten to the point where thinking about her makes his mouth water, the saliva he still has lining the inside of his lips. It's bad. It's only the third day, and he feels the foothold he started to have already slipping away.

He hears their footsteps several minutes before they appear in the landing, Katniss in the lead with a wary but determined Madge at her elbow. He can smell the suspicious nature in her, eyes roving around the branches as if they'll lower themselves onto her neck in a noose. He can sense the adrenaline rush, too, how she's excited and terrified, her heart betraying the coolness of her face.

He hasn't been near another person besides Katniss since the first day, and the two hearts surrounding him are loud and pounding in his ears. Madge has a sweeter tone than Katniss, and Gale suspects her to be like syrup running down his throat.

The temptation suddenly spikes twenty-fold, and his teeth prove disloyalty. His gums pinch, and they begin to grow like roots.

"Gale," Katniss starts, calmly. "Relax."

It's so easy for her to say. The tension in his arms is as thick as concrete. He notices Madge give Katniss a strange look from behind her, then her eyes keep looking over him, eyebrows furrowed. She doesn't know what she's looking for, and Gale can't help but bare his teeth at her so she realizes. Her eyes widen then, and she takes a quiet, sharp inhale. To Gale, it sounds like a gasp.

Katniss glares at him. "Stop it, Gale. I told you not to do that."

"You told me to_ try_ not to do that." He glances back to Madge. "Are you scared?"

She walks out from behind Katniss, standing beside her. Katniss crosses her arms at him, while Madge looks between them. "No," she answers slowly. "Just...surprised."

"I'm sorry," Katniss tells her. "I should have said...something. I didn't know how to explain."

Madge shakes her head. "I would have had a hard time believing you."

"Well, you're here now. And we need you to help us," Gale says.

Madge steps forward. "You mean you need my_ father._" Before she can walk further, Katniss catches her arm.

"Don't get too close," she says. "He's still trying to control himself."

"Control..." Madge glances back to him, and then he can see the realization dawn on her. "Oh."

The dress she's wearing is white, he sees, not for the first time. His ire towards her did not escape the magnification of his senses. He suddenly can't keep it together. All these mood swings are a torment. He wishes he never thought to ask Madge in the first place. "Let her go, Katniss, so she can see what happens."

Katniss sighs at him. She turns to Madge. "Listen," she says. "I know this is kind of sudden. But we thought showing you and letting you know what was going on would help with getting some kind of answers, faster." She shakes her head. "We don't know what it'll do to him over time, and we...well, _I'm_ worried."

After a moment of deliberation, Madge glances over to him and says, "Worried about what? He seems normal to me."

Gale's eyes flash red, and his teeth poke at his lips. Madge tries to keep her spine straight, but he can see her falter in her eyes.

"I'll show you how normal I am," he says. He reaches to the side and rips a branch from the fir, and he shucks it through the trunk of another. He zips around and grabs a squirrel that begins to climb up a tree, breaking it's neck and appearing in front of Madge, dropping it by her feet.

Madge flinches at his sudden closeness, stepping a foot back to catch her balance. He grips her arm with the steel of his fingers. Her breath catches, but her scent is annoyingly overpowering. Maple syrup, candied fruit, sweet, decadent birthday cake.

"You know what my teeth are for, now," Gale says, voice dripping acid near her dress. "Or do you want to feel them?" He glances to her pulse in her neck.

Her eyes are so wide, they look like they'll pop out of her skull, and she's utterly still. Her heart is the only organ working in her system. Before he can laugh at her, Katniss wrenches her way in between them. Her eyes are liquid mercury, and her breath hits his face in a maddened huff. Suddenly, he's surrounded by her scent and Madge's, and they mix into something ridiculously divine, something balanced with sugar and spices. His teeth pass his bottom lip and snag against the beginning of skin. He can't even care about her anger when she's so close.

Her nose can bump his, if she wants it to. "Gale," she says, punching a hand into his chest. "Back off."

Her hand is like a feather. "What if I don't? You can't move me."

"Stop being stupid," she hisses. "Do you need my blood, is that it?"

_Yes._ Her lips are taut but inviting. The blood rushing through her is a magnet. He knows his eyes are still red and veined, but he can't make himself move away. "No."

She seems done with his bullshit. She smashes her wrist underneath his nose. "Do it and get it over with."

His mouth complies, teeth breaking through skin like butter. His fog loosens, and it all becomes crystal after a few heartbeats. He forces his body to back off before he can really taste her.

She gives him a concerned look when he backs away. "Was that enough?"

"More than," he answers, voice thick through the coating of her blood. He uses his teeth to rip a gash in his forearm. Katniss looks back to Madge, who seems to be looking on with a concentrated stillness.

"This part is going to be..."

"Disgusting," Gale finishes for her. Then Katniss hurriedly drinks what he left her. Madge is so focused on the act that she misses Katniss' wound seal up.

Katniss' eyes are lidded when she's done, and she looks up at him for a moment. Then she shakes herself out of it, and turns back to Madge.

"It's so...weird," Madge says. Gale realizes how small she seems, near the tree she's standing beside.

"Yeah," Katniss says. "But...it works, somehow." At that, she holds up the wrist Gale tore into. Madge's mouth parts, and she steps closer, reaching out a hand to touch her skin.

"That's...amazing. Can it do anything else?" she asks, looking at Katniss, then looking at Gale. Gale's kind of surprised she'd direct a question to him.

"Healing-wise, we're not sure, but..." Katniss struggles with the next thing. "It has it's downsides." She glances back to Gale, and her hand moves into his. She looks at them like she doesn't know how it got there, shaking them apart. She crosses her arms and looks away.

Madge stares at them. "It makes you love him."

She says it so simply, Gale flinches. "No," he answers. "It makes her think she does."

"There are other things," Katniss says, and he can tell she's uncomfortable. "It makes you too confident, and it makes you emotional over things you never were emotional over before. And it's like a shot of...adrenaline, sometimes. It makes you think you could run forever."

Gale looks at her. "I didn't know it did that, too."

"It does a lot of things," she says, still not looking at him.

"You healed, too," Madge says, eying Gale's arm. "Was it because you drank her blood, or..."

Gale shakes his head. "No. It happens by itself. I don't bruise, cuts and stab wounds seem to heal fine. The bigger the wound, though, the hungrier it makes me after I heal."

"So what do you do when Katniss isn't here?" she asks. "Do you still hunt animals? Or...drink animals..."

Gale hesitates. He glances to Katniss, but she seems busy concentrating on something in the distance, her fists tight while she does her best to ignore him. "I used to," he answers. "There was an...accident."

Madge looks between them. "What kind of accident?"

Gale glances to Katniss' wrists. "I almost killed her."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "No, he didn't."

"She was unconscious for a while, but she made it."

"I was fine," Katniss shakes her head. "He just feels bad about it."

Gale clenches his teeth. "Anyway, that's why I can't eat animals. Not...anymore. Not after tasting..."

"He uses me, now," Katniss says, forcing herself to walk around, eyes on the ground. "He's trying to control his impulses. He's gotten a lot better, but there's still..."

A slight breeze whips through the meadow, and Gale can smell Madge again. He steps a few feet away. "It's still hard," he tells her, and she watches him move away. Her eyes are very blue, he notes. Almost too blue, and her stare too direct. "Everything is more. Details, smells, emotions. Sounds. I can hear you breathing," he says, leering at her, trying to make her look away from him. She doesn't seem impressed by it, or uncomfortable. He shrugs it off, turning away from her. "That's why I thought you could help, to give me some easier way. I'm living in here until I can get it under control."

"Or until we find a cure for it," Katniss cuts in. She gives him a look, eyes still glazing in and out, but he takes the hint. He isn't going to say anything about Snow. Not that he was going to before. "We're not sure if this will...kill him or not. I don't know how much longer he has."

Gale stares at the back of Katniss' head. He's not sure he's ever heard her so distraught.

Madge sees it, too. It's obvious she isn't going to do it for him, but he knew that long before.

"Okay," she says, voice growing in surety as she nods. "Okay. I'll try to get something out of my dad. I'll listen in on phone calls, and I'll...I'll figure something out."

Katniss gives her a rare, grateful smile. "Thank you, Madge." When Gale remains silent, she cuts a glare at him. He grimaces.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Madge must ignore his tone, because she glances at him, neither disgusted or reluctant, but still curious. She looks back to Katniss, giving her a weak smile. "I should probably go. If I'm gone too long, they'll wonder where I am."

Katniss nods, "Right. I can walk you out."

"No," she says. "The walk was short. I can find the way."

They watch her disappear through the thickets, and Katniss sighs, finding a seat in the straw-like grasses. Gale sits across the meadow from her.

"I hope she can find something," Katniss says.

Gale can't figure out if he wants her to, anymore. There's going to be hope if Madge comes back with any good news, and he doesn't know if it'll be good to have it. Katniss is going to shove it down his throat, like she does with her wrists, and how will he be able to refuse her? And he _has_ to refuse her. She'll hate him, but he'd rather not have any semblance of a cure for her to hang onto. It will make what he has to do easier for her. And for everyone else. He keeps seeing Madge's blue eyes bore into him, and he hopes her attempts to needle at her father are half-hearted. _I should have soiled her dress_, he thinks. But it's too late now.

He can't find anything to say that won't make her angry, so he keeps silent. Then she says, "I wish you could sit by me."

_Me, too,_ he thinks. "I can, if you want me biting at your neck the whole time."

She looks at him over her knees. They're up against her chest, her arms around them. "That wouldn't be so bad."

She smiles, and he suddenly imagines it—sucking on her neck and leaving a hickie with bloodied holes. How she'd grab his hair and moan hot breaths into his ear.

"No," he whispers. "It wouldn't be so bad."

He doesn't think she hears him, but she stands up and walks over to him. She takes a seat beside him, hip touching his side.

"It gets harder every time," she confesses, hand coming up and touching the side of his face. Her fingers never fail to be warmer than him. She drops them. "After drinking your blood, I mean."

"I know the feeling," he says, and he does his best to not look at her. "You shouldn't be this close."

"You shouldn't have this virus."

"You should stop touching my face."

"I don't see you moving away."

He growls in frustration, standing and darting to her vacant spot across the meadow. "See? I moved."

"Gale, stop." She stands and walks three-quarters of the way before he darts past her again. She grumbles. "I can't catch you if you do that!"

Her cheeks are flushed and her look is so miserable that he can't help but grin at her. "Sorry," he shrugs. "I can't let you get too close."

"Gale, that's not fair."

"Then I guess you should go home."

"No!" she shouts, mouth twisted in a sneer. "Our time is running out. I know you want to leave as soon as you can. The next Reaping is in a month. I _know_."

He opens his mouth, but she talks over him, in her blood-laden speak. "I'm not going home until _I_ want to go home. Right now, I want to sit by you, so you're going to stay there and _let_ _me_ sit by you."

She marches over and she does sit by him, and his legs are too leaden to defy her.

"Katniss," he says.

She places a hand on his wrist. It isn't a grip, but it might as well be with how he can't move. "No, Gale. I said I'm staying."

"I know."

"Good."

He turns his head away. "You know you're making this really hard."

"It's never going to be easy."

He sighs. "Catnip—" he starts, and he makes the mistake of looking at her. Her eyes are merciless with emotion that he never sees. It might be the mixture of his new vision and his blood inside her, dilating her silver irises into rings. She is a clearer picture than she's ever been next to him, her life pulsing against his vacant one, her heat against the chill of his bones.

"You can drink from my neck," she whispers, her soft voice echoing in his ears. "It can be your next step."

She's fighting against and falling into it all at the same time. He isn't sure if she means what she says, if in the next minute or hour she'll stare at him horribly embarrassed and regretful, wondering why she said or did the things she did. But he consoles himself in his mind, because part of her _must_ mean the things she says, and his blood can't be the only thing pulling out words that he's wanted to hear for weeks, months, however long it has been. Can it? Can what he's hearing be a manipulation that he created? With her, drinking his blood, and drinking his hopes and desires with it. He can't possibly be behind the torrent of emotion she feels, can he? His blood...his poison...

An impossible delusion, he imagines, staring at her flushed cheeks. It's the lack of sleep, and his diet consisting only of her, that's what he'll blame his paranoia on. Because she's right—they have four weeks left if nothing terrible happens before then. Twenty eight days. It's such a short time comparing it to the years they've spent together, all passing in a blur. How fast will a month leave them?

His stomach clenches, and his teeth pull out of his gums. He gets close to her, closer than he's ever been, his lips landing on her neck like a kiss. She shudders, but her head falls to the right, letting her pulse hit his tongue. She lets out a breath above his ear, coming out as light as a snowflake melting on his skin. Her hands come up to grip his hair, clutching him tightly. It's just like he imagined it, but his paranoia is far from his mind. He is blind with her scent and her heat, the rush of her blood and how she's curled up into him, wrapping around his body like a glove. She pushes herself into his lap, and his teeth push into her skin. He cannot stop himself with the decision, tasting her on such an intimate part of her. She even tastes better here, tasting like a secret she's confessing to him and him alone. She lords over him, and in this, she rules him without abandon, keening beautiful magic into him, like a substitute for a cure. For a moment, they are somewhere else.

And how can he refuse her, after this? How will he say yes when she says no?


End file.
